


Aftermath

by Verelia



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Day 4 prompt: Battle / Losses / Victory, F/F, FE Rarepair Week, f!robin / panne, hurt/comfort I guess, sorry it's late! i'm gonna finish em all though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verelia/pseuds/Verelia
Summary: The Shepherds come upon a village overrun with brigands.  Yet the danger does not end when the last intruder falls.  Not all of their rescuers are human, a fact to which the isolated villagers do not take kindly.  Unfortunately, it is a situation that Panne knows all too well.  But the same cannot be said for Fyra, and as far as she's concerned, one time is more than enough.   Written for Fire Emblem Rarepair Week.  Day 4: Battle/Loss/Victory.





	Aftermath

A tiny, coastal village was hardly Fyra’s first choice of battlefield.  But when raiders fell upon innocent townspeople, it was the Shepherds’ duty to intervene.  The houses made the terrain at least slightly defensible, but it was a race to help the villagers escape before their homes were put to the torch.  

 

It had been a grueling half hour or so, but all the civilians had been ushered behind the Shepherds’ lines, and now all that remained was to finish off the ruffians, or force a surrender.  They always attempted the latter, but with so many raider corpses already littering the beaten paths, the former seemed just about certain.

 

As Sully and Sumia were chasing some of the more nimble fighters into the woods, Chrom and Olivia made quick work of the stragglers.  That left a single foe, and Panne and Fyra to deal with it.

 

Despite the dwindling numbers of his comrades, the enemy commander stood firm.  Admittedly, “commander” was a loose term--he was just the loudest, ugliest fellow of the bunch, who bellowed laughably disorganized commands every now and again.  The effort was commendable, Fyra supposed, but every bit of his authority seemed to stem from fear rather than merit or genuine respect. Testament to that fact were the few his men who’d turned tail once the Shepherds arrived.

 

His stubbornness was fine by Fyra.  If he chose not to throw down that shiny, silver spear of his, she had no issue plucking it off his corpse and putting it to use on worthier foes.

 

“Well?” called Fyra, careful to stop her approach before getting in range of his spear.  “I’m sure we could talk this out.”

 

“You are?”  Panne, at her side, turned to look at Fyra like she had three heads.  “Really?”

 

Fyra shrugged.  “He seems craven enough.  Worth a shot, right?”

 

Panne just snorted in response, the slightest smile on her face as she turned back to their enemy, her sword at the ready.  It was reaching the end of its days, Fyra saw--the metal was scratched and worn, and even the crossguard was bent at one end.  She made a mental note to have a new one forged as soon as they were able.

 

It was no wonder that it looked so thoroughly worn--Panne had been putting it to especially good use.  After months of training with her, Fyra could say with confidence (and not just because she was biased) that Panne had gotten remarkably good with a sword.  Nothing had the fearsome power of her beaststones, of course, but Fyra always worried about what she’d do if they were dropped and broken during battle, or if an enemy was smart enough to target it.  There was also the concern of their rarity--if they broke, replacing them was a daunting task indeed. Panne had been hesitant, but agreed in the end, if only to calm her wife’s fears. In situations like these--remote villages, with isolated populations--it doubled as a means of cover, as well.  If they didn’t look too closely, she was but another swordsman, and drew little more attention than most other Shepherds. 

 

“You want to talk?  Why don’t you get a bit closer, girl?” the man sneered.  Fyra could have laughed at the poor attempt to bait her. 

 

No, she wouldn’t move just yet.  She had all the time in the world to figure it out--not that she needed it.  She would wait, and then go in with magic, Panne covering her while she cast.  If he didn’t fall in one blow, Panne would keep him distracted, dodging his undoubtedly sloppy spearwork, and get out of the way once Fyra had time to cast again.  

 

By now, such a plan was familiar.  All she had to do was tap Panne lightly on the shoulder and make sure she was watching as Fyra sheathed her sword, putting her hands up in false surrender.  

 

“Why don’t  _ you _ shut your damn mouth?” cried a deep voice to her left.

 

To her shock, a burly man came hurtling at the commander, practically begging to be run through with his spear.  One of the villagers, Fyra realized, with an axe looted off one of the brigands’ corpses. Panicked now, she wracked her brain trying to figure out how to get the fool out of harm’s way, when a clash of metal on metal drew her attention back to her enemy.

 

Panne had rushed forward, going in far closer than necessary and slamming her blade down, two-handed, in the seam between the man’s pauldron and gorget.  He cried out in pain, but was clearly wearing more underneath, as it didn’t go far enough to end him. Not yet, anyway.

 

Taking advantage of the fact that the noise distracted the villager, too, Fyra placed her hand on a wind tome and whispered the weakest spell she could think of.  A sudden gale swept the man off his feet, causing him to stumble and fall out of position--most importantly, out of the bandit’s range. 

 

“Run!” she yelled, not stopping to check if he listened.  As soon he was out of harm’s way, her attention was completely on Panne.  Her wife was fast, and resourceful, but not invincible. Luckily, she managed to wrench her blade free in time to dodge the spear thrusting toward her.  

 

She moved back out of his range, joining Fyra in front of him.

 

“Panne, are you alright?” Fyra asked, out of breath, her heart racing at how close Panne had come to harm.  

 

“Of course… Hmph,” she grunted.  “Forget it.”

 

Fyra began to ask what she meant, but Panne saved her the trouble as she reeled back and flung her sword at the spearman.  

 

He was a large target, and Panne was a good shot, so it struck true, the sword hitting his breastplate with a sickening crack as the blade snapped at the force.  Fyra was so distracted by this--as was their enemy--that she almost missed Panne pull a gleaming amber stone from the pouch at her hip.

 

In a brilliant flash of light, she took on her rabbit form, now towering above Fyra, as well as the brigand, who now clambered to retrieve the spear he’d dropped in shock.  

 

He never got the chance. 

 

Panne raced toward him with far more speed than any human could hope for.  A single kick with her hind leg caved in his breastplate. A moment later, her claws sunk deep into the wound she’d made with the sword, staining his shoulder a deep red. 

 

She perched on her hind legs and looked back at Fyra, a glint of humor in her glowing eyes.  “Not so talkative after all, is he?”

 

Fyra’s giggle quickly turned to a gasp as the villager returned, axe in hand, his eyes fixed on Panne as he ran toward her.  

 

“Stop!”  Fyra gasped, quickly reaching for her tome, but it was too late.

 

Panne had heard him coming, of course, and began to leap out of the way, but the blade of the axe still grazed her leg as she moved.  

 

She resumed her human form in another flash of light, the wound still evident on her thigh.  By the time Panne stood up again, Fyra had thrown herself in between them, sword unsheathed and trained on the man they’d just saved.

 

“Put your weapon down,” Fyra began, struggling to keep the rage out of her voice.  “This woman is one of the Shepherds.”

 

“Oh, really?  She almost got me with those claws.  Seemed like she had half a mind to kill the both of us, if you ask me.”

 

“Well, she didn’t,” Fyra bristled.  “Put down that axe before  _ you _ hurt someone.  The brigands are dead, thanks to us.  You and your village are free to return to your homes.”

 

“I assure you, I was aiming for the man trying to  _ kill you _ ,” Panne said dryly, walking to stand behind Fyra.  

 

If he heard what Panne had said, he made no indication of it. 

 

“Aye, those raiders might be gone, but the way I see it, we still got trouble.  I won’t tell my people not to fight when some monster’s still roaming around. Far as I’m concerned, you just brought in another problem.”  He shifted the axe’s weight in his hands. “You want me to feel safe? Then take your beast and leave with it.”

 

It wasn’t often that Fyra’s composure was completely shattered in an instant.   

 

“ _ What _ did you say?” she snarled, taking a step toward him.  “She just saved your life!” She punctuated her last word by bringing her sword as close to the man’s throat as she dared.  Her limbs were trembling with anger--too close, and she might nick him. The thought was tempting, to be sure.

 

“I said--”

 

“Ugh!” Fyra cut him off before he could actually repeat himself, her lip curled in disgust.  

 

“Fyra.”  Panne’s voice was calm, quiet.  Too calm, as far as Fyra was concerned--she shouldn’t be used to this.  The thought made her blood boil all the more. “You need not--”

 

“What’s going on?  Fyra?” Chrom jogged up behind them, hand on the blade at his hip.  

 

Their words, however, had come a bit late.

 

Fyra’s name hadn’t quite left Chrom’s lips before she--in a show of  _ restraint _ \--lowered her sword, balled her other hand into a fist, and cracked it across the villager’s jaw.  

 

She wasn’t sure if the noise she’d heard was her hand, the man’s face, or a mixture of both, but the fury still flaring brightly within her made the pain in her arm easy to ignore.  She hadn’t failed to notice Panne’s gasp from behind her.

 

“Listen,” she growled, “if you’d rather she let you die, I can certainly--”

 

“Fyra!” Chrom warned, putting a hand on her shoulder.  “We just worked to save these people.” His eyes drifted to the axe in the man’s arms.  “Whatever happened, I'm sure it was an accident. Right?” He glanced expectantly at the villager.

 

Fyra wrenched herself free of his loose grip.  “He  _ attacked  _ her,” she snarled through gritted teeth.  “And he called her a  _ beast _ .  I think he knew what he was doing.”

 

Chrom looked first at the gash on Panne’s leg, his eyes widening for a moment, and then back at Fyra.

 

“I understand your anger, my friend, but perhaps you’d be better off seeing to Panne.”  His voice was tense as he jerked his head toward the woman in question. 

 

Still scowling, Fyra nodded slightly.  No matter what this scum deserved, Panne came first.  She tried to keep her breathing slow and steady, but she sheathed her sword with more force than was strictly necessary, and couldn’t help but glance menacingly at Panne’s assailant one last time before returning to her wife’s side.  

 

“Unless you want another punch from our tactician--at the very least--I’d suggest leaving that woman alone.  If you harm her again,” Chrom continued with a glare, “I’m afraid the Shepherds will be neither obligated nor inclined to protect you.  We don’t take kindly to those who hurt our own, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He gestured toward the corpse of the raiders’ commander. 

 

Fyra could not have said if he continued, as once she looked again at Panne’s wound, shallow as it was, the rest of her surroundings may as well have ceased to exist.

 

“How bad is it?” she whispered, a pang of guilt cutting through her anger at last.  This should’ve been the first thing she did.

 

“Not bad at all.  He and his axe were both rather dull.”  There was a hint of amusement in her eyes as she regarded Fyra.  “I think you are worse off than I am.”

 

“It’s not funny, Panne.  He could’ve killed you!”

 

“Him?  Kill me?” she asked with a mirthless laugh.  “Come now, Fyra. That  _ is _ funny, and you know it.”  Panne sighed as Fyra’s horrified expression remained the same.  “Of all the times that a man-spawn has come at me, steel in hand, ready to drive a ‘beast’ from their home, that was by far the easiest to endure.”

 

“Panne…” Fyra began in a tremulous voice, holding back tears.  There were so many things that she almost said: if only she’d been quicker, smarter, more attentive--but none of this was about her, she reminded herself.  She let out a shaky breath, her eyes fixed on Panne’s wound. “Let’s… let’s get you to a healer.”

 

Panne regarded Fyra with a warm expression.  “As I said, it is hardly serious. But… I will admit, it is comforting to be taken care of like this.  Thank you, Fyra.” With that, she tried to turn on her heel and start back toward camp, but stopped short as Fyra grabbed her hand.

 

“Of course I’m taking care of you--I  _ love you _ , Panne.  So I’m also not about to let you walk there.”  As proof of her words, Fyra placed Panne’s hand on her shoulder.  “Put your arms around my neck.”

 

“Seriously?” Panne asked with a bewildered smile.  “You intend to carry me?”

 

“You know Libra won’t be happy if he hears you walked all the way to the healers’ tent on an injured leg.  And this time, I won’t lie about it for you!” Fyra’s tone was light, teasing despite the heaviness she felt.  Though she was serious, or so she told herself--she really would tell Libra the truth if Panne was stubborn enough to walk there without help.  If the thought of Libra’s quiet disappointment wasn’t enough to make her reconsider, Fyra didn’t know what would. 

 

“I love you too,” Panne managed despite her genuine laughter, its sweet sound a balm for Fyra’s worries.  “And I suppose I  _ must _ reconsider, in the face of so terrible a threat.”  That finally got a smile out of Fyra, however small.

 

\--

 

Maribelle and Lissa were doing their best to treat any wounded civilians in the village proper.  Fyra had no doubt that either of them would have jumped at the chance to help Panne, but she and her wife were anxious to be rid of the town as soon as possible.  When they eventually arrived at the healers’ tent, pitched further away with the rest of the Shepherds’ camp, it was nearly empty.

 

Libra sat within, poring over a dusty tome, though he looked up when they entered.  Only one or two of the neatly lined cots were occupied, as far as Fyra could tell, with their inhabitants either asleep or unconscious.  

 

“Fyra!” he exclaimed as he rose from his simple stool.  His pleasant expression shifted as soon as he got a good look at the sight before him.  “And… Naga be good. Is Panne alright?”

 

“She is,” Panne replied lightheartedly, her voice muffled by Fyra’s coat.  Her eyes were closed and she might have looked as though she was resting, had her leg not been bleeding still, even soaking through the strip of cloth Fyra had wrapped around it.  

 

“It’s… just her leg.  Well, mostly,” Fyra added, reluctant to disregard the rest of what had happened, even though Panne seemed perfectly content to.

 

“Right, then.  Let’s have a look.”

 

Fyra placed Panne down gently on a cot near the entrance of the tent, late afternoon sunlight flooding in through the open flaps and casting the makeshift infirmary in a soft, golden glow.  After a bit of coaxing, Panne disentangled her arms from around Fyra, though Fyra was sure to hold Panne’s hand as she knelt beside the cot. 

 

“The wound is shallow, thankfully.  After I’ve cleaned it, I’ll take a staff to it and get some fresh bandages.”  Libra scurried off with one last nod, leaving them alone while he gathered his supplies.

 

“Sorry that I punched him instead of helping you,” Fyra blurted out, before she was sure Libra was even out of earshot yet.  

 

“This is the risk I take by joining a human army--that the people I defend may see me as an enemy.”  Panne was staring straight ahead, glazed red eyes fixed on nothingness far past the tent above her. “I have had to bury my anger countless times before in the interest of survival.  What you did hardly made up for everything that’s happened, but… it was certainly satisfying.” Panne’s smug expression turned serious as she looked up at Fyra, squeezing her hand. “And you did help me, even then.  To see you leap to my defense as you did… you may not realize what a comfort it was. With the Shepherds--with  _ you-- _ I no longer feel as if I face the whole world alone.”

 

“Oh, Panne…”  Fyra bent down and hugged her, careful not to lean too heavily on Panne’s body.  “You’re right. Even if I can’t always protect you… I’ll always be by your side.”  She wanted to say she could protect her from anything, that she’d never let this happen again, but today was proof enough of how naive that claim truly was.  

 

But Panne did not seek the impossible from her, even when Fyra wished so badly to give it.  She promised what she could, and somehow, that was enough.

 

“I know, my love.”  Panne put her hand over Fyra’s, touching the matching ring that she found there.  “You promised me, after all.”  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for reading. I'm sorry for being late on these later prompts, but I assure you, I'm planning on filling all of them, even though I was unable to do so during the actual rarepair week. This is way happier than day 3's angsty prompt, even though there is some danger and whatnot. Thank you for your time, and I really hope you enjoy!


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